


Be My Vessel, If Only For Tonight

by ThirthFloor



Series: Some Adventures - Nonlinear or So [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirthFloor/pseuds/ThirthFloor
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are hit with a spell that switches their bodies, and Geralt realises how uncomfortable he is in his own presence.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Some Adventures - Nonlinear or So [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711828
Comments: 40
Kudos: 629





	Be My Vessel, If Only For Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Thanks so much for stopping by!!
> 
> So... sorry for sitting on this prompt for so long. I've been having some writer's constipation lately and words have just not worked for me. This was lowkey supposed to be a whole quest oneshot but then became... this. Hope you enjoy!!

“Holy – _shit_ , Geralt, this is what it’s like?” Jaskier declared with shock, in _Geralt’s_ voice. He gaped down with _Geralt’s_ eyes at _Geralt’s_ crotch, and used _Geralt’s_ hand to paw at the fabric around it, marvelling with a grin that looked so disgustingly out of place with _Geralt’s_ features.

The Witcher could only watch in horror as it all happened, faint from how light he felt. He looked down, at the rich blues he himself was now clad in, patting himself down with _Jaskier’s_ hands. This was wrong. This was uncomfortable. This was _wrong_.

“What the fuck did you do, Bard?” Cursing under his breath, something about the lack of bass in his speech made Geralt feel meek. He scowled deeply, contorting Jaskier’s facial features in a way they weren’t often used.

Aghast, the Bard snapped back, “ _I_ didn’t do – _woah_.” He paused at the unfettered aggression in his tone, an effect that came across even as he tried to lightly quip with the Witcher’s much, _much_ deeper voice. “That was weird. This is – this is _all_ weird. I did _not_ do this, what is happening? Why am I, _you_?”

Geralt glanced behind them at the burning structure of a small wooden chapel. The beast trapped inside had likely been seared to death by now, but the pulse of magic that burst forth from it in its final moments was unmistakeable. The confirmation of it made his stomach churn unpleasantly, and he turned back to face Jaskier – whose consciousness was now trapped inside _his_ body.

“That thing must have released some sort of distortion hex as it died, a last effort.” Taking a step forward, the Witcher winced as his knee buckled and toe hit the ground roughly. He staggered on, forcing himself to grow accustomed to the Bard’s lankiness. He felt like a newborn fawn, stumbling about on limbs too long for something this light. “Our minds seem to have switched bodies.”

“Oh, well, that isn’t good.” Jaskier’s mumbled frankness still sounded incorrect with Geralt’s voice, and now more than ever Geralt longed for him to shut up. “I should probably put this away then, um…” And now he was fumbling to sheathe the massive broadsword, missing so dangerously and coming close to cutting himself more times than even an idiot could have.

Just as it looked like the Bard was going to fully impale himself – or Geralt, honestly the Witcher did not even know how to refer to the man when he was looking at his own body – he stepped forward and took the sword from him. “Let me handle it, Jask – _fuck_.” It was disproportionately heavy in his now weak arms, and Geralt was forced to stoop over a little as the tip of the sword met the ground.

Jaskier stared at Geralt, and Geralt glared at the sword, jaw clenched with barely suppressed rage. The expression turned his new features a dark red, and Geralt felt the heat. It was humiliating.

What was worse was the sound of barely contained laughter in his own voice, as Jaskier chortled at him. “Everything alright, Geralt? Need a hand with that big, heavy sword?”

“You shouldn’t be laughing at me. This is _your_ body. Small, weak. _Yours_.” Growling, Geralt tipped the sword up and offered the hilt to Jaskier. “Don’t kill yourself.”

“I’ve got it now, and don’t take that tone with me, literally. I don’t like your huffiness on my voice.” After another few sloppy attempts, Jaskier finally managed to stow the sword safely in its leather hold. “And grab my lute, will you? If you break it, you buy it.”

There came another pause, in which they merely stared at each other. That underlying anger was still present on Geralt’s – Jaskier’s – face, and the Bard smirked back in a gesture that made the man before him cringe. The crackling of the still-burning structure beside them continued as ashes decorated the thin layer of snow beneath their feet. Geralt growled once more and scooped up the lute case from where it lay discarded by the base of a tree, unceremoniously swinging it over his shoulder and knocking himself in the head with it. One sharp look kept the Bard from commenting on _that_ , happy enough that the instrument was not forgotten.

Jaskier then broke the silence, smiling as he spoke – as if he enjoyed hearing his own voice even _more_ , now that it was Geralt’s deep words. “I suppose we should head back to the inn, then, and find a way to sort all this out. Personally, _I’m_ delighted with the current arrangements, but I can’t imagine you are, even though you should be. I’m a treat.”

“Shut up.” Adjusting to the new posture, Geralt forced himself to move forward sufficiently without tripping over his own feet, still disturbed by the lightness of his limbs and his clothing. He almost felt as though Jaskier didn’t eat enough, but pushed that thought aside. “Roach, come along.”

He reached a hand out to pat the mare, and she snorted and tossed her mane, moving her head away from him. A wave of rejection passed over the Witcher’s expression, and was met with uproars of laughter from the Bard behind him. In _his_ voice – it sounded so out of place.

“Quit laughing. She hates you so much that she doesn’t even recognise me in your body,” Geralt spat, but deep down a sense of betrayal stung. He stared at Roach with blue eyes for a moment longer, then moved forward to return to the path.

“Oh, bully, you’re just upset that she turned you down. Hi, Roachie!” Jaskier grinned again and twiddled his fingers at the horse, who gave him a suspicious look in return and moved away, clopping on her own down towards the trail. It seemed she was wary of the whole situation, and decided not to engage with either of the switched men the entire route back.

~

Opening the door to the tavern and being met with the turned heads of the attendees, along with their boorish glares, was not something new for the pair. But given the circumstances – that the glares were almost entirely directed at Jaskier, still trapped in Geralt’s body – it was infinitely more unnerving. Jaskier shifted and tried to plaster on the most powerful bitchface he could to mimic Geralt’s demeanour, but uncertainty still swam in his eyes. He looked down.

“Nice job setting the old church ablaze, you fucking lunatic.” A man from the bar spat at their feet as they entered.

Several others followed suit, and soon Jaskier’s – Geralt’s – boots shone with the drips of saliva. The Bard’s blood boiled at the repulsive, rude gesture. Firstly – how _dare_ they sully an already dreadful set of clothing, as if black linens and armour was accessible everywhere! And secondly – he could not stand that they treated Geralt this way. Witnessing it was terrible enough, and the Bard longed to have the strength to pound each and every one of them, but having it enacted upon himself now? His anger flared up easier than usual, perhaps a result of Geralt’s ordinary bodily defenses.

 _Wait…_ but now he _did_ have the strength. Oh, but he couldn’t go making things worse for Geralt as it was… Jaskier glanced at the Witcher beside him, stuck in his slimmer body, and felt sorry at the expression he bore. Lips pressed in a thin line, glaring in a way that only looked sad with those features.

“He burned down that church to kill the beast inside. You should be grateful.” Geralt shot a glare in the Bard’s direction, silently imploring him to keep his mouth shut. That look almost made Jaskier want to disobey for the ridiculousness of it all, but a more sober part of him truly didn’t want to make Geralt’s day more dreadful than it already was.

“Damn, Bard, when did you grow a pair? That look doesn’t suit your face.” The Barkeep’s comment elicited some chuckles from the patrons who weren’t busying themselves with making sure their anger was shown in every gesture and expression.

Geralt spat out through gritted teeth, “Oh, fuck off, it’ll suit me well enough when I’ll be shoving a sword up your-”

“Ger… askier!” Jaskier felt so strange saying even part of his own name, but blurted it out as he clapped a hand heavily onto Geralt’s shoulder. He leaned close to say lowly in his ear, “You can’t start fights in my body. You’ve seen what happens when _I_ do that, only I won’t be as efficient in using these muscles to get you out of it.”

A huff and low _hmph_ was the only response Jaskier got, but a small smile danced on his lips as he patted him on the back. The bargoers were still staring.

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth, Bard, or you won’t be getting any coin. I think a performance can excuse your behaviour.” The Barkeep tilted his head and ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “And keep you your room for the evening.”

The man barely finished his sentence before Geralt growled. “No.”

“No?”

“Alright, we’re going up, our room’s been paid for. Enough of this.” Jaskier sighed in exasperation, grabbing Geralt and momentarily admiring how easy it truly was to grip his upper arm and drag him away from them all. He wondered how many times Geralt had done this same motion to him, when Jaskier was too drunk to remember and inevitably had tried to throw hands with some unsuspecting villagers.

~

Upon arriving in their room, it was nearly possible to witness the stress rolling off of Geralt in thick, angry waves. As soon as they had gotten out of earshot of the bargoers, Jaskier had resumed his habit of rambling about any and all things he could, although this time it was heavily in jest as he taunted Geralt struggling to cope with being imprisoned in his weaker body.

 _Really, he needed to loosen up about this whole matter._ It would get sorted out somehow. But at the same time, Jaskier understood – even sympathised with – his anxiety. If this went on for too long, it would be quite bad. It was easy for Geralt to fall off the grid as a Witcher, but that never meant that he liked to.

All the same though, something else really seemed to be bothering him. Jaskier had a difficult time thinking too hard about it, and decided to wait for when something more concrete showed. It always did; in that body, the Bard was godawful at hiding how he felt. He was just blessed – or cursed – with an incredibly dense companion.

“Stop looking at my dick, Jaskier.” Geralt growled for likely the third time, snapping the Bard out of his thoughts as he stared down at his lap.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and groaned at his pessimism. “I haven’t even removed your trousers, relax! Plus, you’ve got to let me enjoy this at least a little bit. There’s a real big difference between it being _in_ you and it being _on_ you, you know? Believe me Geralt, as grouchy as you are, this is not nearly as unpleasant an experience on my end. Let me live in the moment.”

Another unexpected wave of heat then rose to Geralt’s cheeks, and he found himself uncomfortable keeping Jaskier’s gaze. He was learning now that his body’s reactions seemed completely out of control, which meant the responses were likely still what Jaskier would experience in times like this.

 _Was it truly that challenging to maintain eye contact with himself_? Geralt shifted uneasily where he sat on the end of the bed, Jaskier reclining before him with his back against the headboard.

“You know, watching _me_ blush while knowing it’s _you_ in there is kindof hot.” Jaskier’s smirk caused Geralt to look back up at him, easier this time because of the irritated furrow of his brows.

All the same, Geralt nodded even as he insulted, “It’s disturbing to feel how unrestrained you are with your attractions.”

“Rude. I was complimenting you.”

“I don’t like the way you’re complimenting yourself using my voice. Stop putting words in my mouth, Bard. And quit _smiling_ , I don’t do that for a reason. It looks bad.”

“I think your smile looks rather nice, I’m blessing the world with more of it.” Jaskier said it so matter-of-factly, and Geralt felt the heart in the body he was currently inhabiting flutter.

He startled a little at the feeling, and Jaskier seemed to notice. He raised a brow when the Witcher spoke before him. “Does it always feel like this for you?”

“What do you mean? You… Geralt, what’s the matter?” He said it while frowning, and Geralt was put at ease by seeing the more familiar expression on his face. He shrugged, which was impetus enough for Jaskier to continue. “You’re getting freaked out from my body, which I find rather odd because I feel normal in yours aside from the obvious increase of absolute sexiness and how dreadfully heavy these gorgeous muscles are. Also, you don’t seem to get this way, you know, freaked out by all the little things when you’ve got your hands shoved up and around my-”

“Enough of that, alright?” Geralt shifted again, not being able to get comfortable where he was positioned; finally, he resorted to folding his legs and sitting crisscrossed. He placed his hands in his lap and stared down at the floor, grateful to have _something_ to focus on aside from his own face.

 _He always stared so… intensely_. The expression he saw from himself, even as it was from Jaskier, was so _sharp_ – nothing like the warm glances, the upturned eyes and cute, inquisitive looks he earned from the Bard while he was in his own features. Even with _Jaskier_ wearing Geralt’s face, it still seemed frightening.

“Geralt, you’re making me look sad.” Jaskier’s words were teasing, but the Witcher could tell from the way _his_ eyebrow twitched up as he said it that he was bothered. He paused before continuing, finally slowly in a pace that made Geralt’s voice sound somewhat normal. “What’s wrong? Aside from the… obvious mishap.”

“I asked my question first. Does it always feel like this for you?”

“What do you mean? Geralt, my friend you still have to use your words. Expressiveness from my body doesn’t do _everything_ , as much as it would seem sometimes.” He cursed quietly. “Damn, I should have blushed at that. Do you not blush?”

Geralt groaned quietly, rolling his eyes. “Not really. Answer me, Jaskier. Your body is so… responsive.”

Taking a moment to think, the Bard formed a verbal response, nodding as he offered it. “Yeah, I guess it is, and it does. You know, when I’m in your body, I feel sort of normal, but it’s… dull. Mentally, I know what’s going on, but usually, you know, I’m blushing or walking around or gesturing while I talk. I don’t feel the need to do that now, and it’s terribly odd.”

“So, what you feel when you are in your own body…” Geralt trailed off, hoping Jaskier would take the hint for elaboration.

“Right, right,” He mused again before rambling on. “When I’m in my body, as you can probably tell, things… get to me. I live by the heart, you’ve heard me say that before, and it would make sense because I’m a Bard and all… But yeah, I always feel things when I’m around you, why do you ask?”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “Do you feel uncomfortable when I look at you?”

“No?” Jaskier paused then, and hesitated before leaning over to place his hand on Geralt’s knee. “You do have very striking eyes, yes, and you do stare _a lot_ , but… no, I never feel uncomfortable. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t seem to be fond of looking at myself, that’s all. Maybe I’m reading your responses incorrectly.” Something painful clawed at his chest, and Geralt hunched his shoulders a little to turn away from Jaskier – from his own watchful gaze.

“Hey, don’t face away from me, Geralt…” The smaller frame of Jaskier’s body was no match against Jaskier himself gripping his shoulders to turn him back. “I can’t change your opinion in a day. I can’t tell you to stare at your own body when it’s me in here and _like_ it, which is one of the reasons I haven’t asked you if we can rail each other just yet.” He earned an eyeroll from the Witcher, but pressed on. “The point is – the _point_ is, even if your image won’t change while I’m in here, just know that I love it, because I absolutely _adore_ you. Scars and all – fuck, Geralt, _especially_ scars. You know that, don’t you?”

“I… you’ve said so before.” His heart was pounding, feeling like it was being pulled in all different directions by the chambers themselves. His head swam and his skin felt hot and Geralt just didn’t know what to _do_ with all of these words. These kind words, said in likeness so often to him before… Why did they seem to mean so much _more_ now?

Jaskier seemed to know, a warm smile spreading. “Another thing, I respond very well to compliments. So, whatever you’re feeling? That’s how I feel whenever you do anything or say anything remotely sweet. And I find most things you do when you think no one’s looking to be quite precious, just _adorable,_ really.”

Geralt’s breath hitched as another wave of heat prickled at his cheeks. He looked away, beginning to tremble. _This was all too much,_ and Jaskier’s body responded too quickly, too _well_ to all of it. “Shut up.”

“Aw, why? I think this is quite fun.”

“Jaskier, stop.”

“But-”

“ _Stop_.” The command came out more as a plead in Jaskier’s pitched voice, but the effect held the same. Jaskier softened and Geralt’s features mirrored it, just watching the struggling Witcher before him.

A few moments passed, and Geralt did not feel better. If anything, he felt worse, still shaking and just absolutely _overwhelmed_ in a trapping, condemning way. He didn’t understand the reactions, and that only seemed to make them worse. They weren’t bad feelings, but there was something so stifling about the way his heart seemed to swell into his throat, the buzzing in his fingertips and rushing in his ears. It was all too much. He moved to get off the bed, to pace or move or do anything at all, when he was suddenly enveloped in a pair of strong arms. His own arms.

Jaskier pulled him close to his chest, leaning forward awkwardly but holding him dearly all the same. And it _worked._ Geralt felt it, so immediate – the sense of calm that washed over him and directed his fluttering heartbeats into a heavy, steady pulse.

_This was how the Bard felt when he held him?_

“It’s a lot, I know.” Jaskier spoke quietly, pulling Geralt back against him and lounging once more on the pillows propped against the headboard. “For someone who’s not used to it, all of that energy can be a lot, huh? Usually you’re so tired, all grumpy and gloom for your Big Bad Witcher image…” He nestled his nose into short brown hair, smiling softly with a satisfied hum. “But _I_ know what I like, so let me hold you, m’kay?”

“This is strange, Jaskier. I don’t like these… these feelings.”

“They’re not bad though, I promise. It’s a lot, and it’s confusing, but that’s what my poems are for. To figure all of it out. And usually it’s just a lot of good feelings that I can’t process. You’re stressful to be around, but it’s the exciting stress, the thrill of adventure and new horizons, you know?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier laughed, the sound of it rumbling deep and filling Geralt’s ears. It was pleasant, and comforting, and without realising it, he pressed his ear to his chest – his _own_ chest – to hear it. It was a shame he never felt the need to laugh more often. Jaskier seemed to take comfort in the sound, and for once, Geralt more deeply understood his need to be close like this. The experience was oddly humbling, despite the circumstances that brought it about.

“This is nice.” He managed to say lowly, softly, even in Jaskier’s voice.

“See? I tell you this all the time.” Jaskier tilted his face upwards to cup it in the Witcher’s large, calloused hands. “Look at me for a second, Geralt. Well, look at _you_. You may not like yourself all of the time. I get that. It’s hard. But… now, you have no reason to doubt how much _I_ care about you. It’s a physiological _response_ for me to like you. You’ve got all of this self-doubt, and that will change in longer time but… for now, just don’t doubt _me_ , alright?”

A new feeling blossomed in Geralt’s chest. A… small, tender and vulnerable feeling. He felt protected, safe. “Alright.”

“Good. Now, we were going to meet Yen in the next town, correct?” He smirked, lightening the quiet mood in an instant. “Do you think she’ll like me like this?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, smiling just slightly. The movement of his lips came more naturally in Jaskier’s body, well-practiced and immediate. “Don’t get your hopes up, she’ll be able to tell. You might even ruin me for her too, putting my face on that attitude.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier chuckled again, the sound tactile as it reverberated in his chest and in the small room. He pulled the Witcher beside him on the bed, carefully slotting himself behind him under the covers, and held him so that his back was pressed against his broad chest. “Fine, you’ll get your body back tomorrow and everything will be just fine.”

The Witcher squirmed a little in his grip, the compressed feeling spiking his nerves. “This is strange again, Jaskier, I’m not usually… this small.”

“Right, which is why you’re going to let me enjoy it. Just – shut up and let me spoon myself. Plus, you’ll fall asleep right away. I always do.” Once more, he nestled his nose into the short brown locks and held him close, breathing and heartbeat even and slow. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

With those words, Geralt’s heart leapt again, and he decided that conceding would help him relax more than fighting. And Jaskier’s body didn’t seem to be one inclined to fight, anyways, as he felt his muscles slackening and the pulse inside him slow to match his breathing. This wasn’t so bad after all, and he silently marvelled at the intimacy of it. _Jaskier really felt this way at even a simple embrace?_ It was astonishing, how much depth there was when aware of feelings’ intent.

A small part of Geralt knew that, by being a Witcher, there was much he had missed out on. But experiencing it through the man he loved, all was not lost. He could ask. And now, he knew.

So, he could act, and draw it out, and know all the while how he was making the Bard feel. It was enlightening, and gentle, and quiet… and before he knew it, Geralt had fallen asleep.

~

“Jaskier, do not talk that quickly with Geralt’s voice. It’s too deep, and I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Yennefer sighed from where she sat across from the two, at a more peaceful tavern the next evening in the next town over. Her violet eyes rolled back in exasperation when the Bard tried once again to retell the story of how this all happened, and her gaze landed on Geralt – who still looked back at her with baby blues.

Geralt held her stare for a moment longer before sitting back in his seat. “Yen, we need to be switched back.”

“I’ll do that for you, but I’m going to ask you a question first.” She crossed her arms and leaned forward, scrutinising them in a way that made both men shift in their seats. “What did you learn?”

“What do you mean? Clearly, don’t trap a… what was that thing again, Geralt? Don’t trap a whatever-that-thing-was in burning chapel and stick around. That’s what _I_ learned.” Jaskier huffed sarcastically.

“You two are dense. What did you learn about _each other_?” At their blank stares she tossed a hand up in disbelief. “Geralt, you’re not going to tell me that you still find Jaskier’s clinginess irritating? Jaskier, do you further appreciate and understand Geralt’s complications with words? I’m asking if you grew closer through this experience.”

“Oh, darling I _already_ appreciated him. I always do.” The Bard turned with wide eyes to the Witcher. “Did you tell her that I didn’t?”

Geralt shrunk a little under his own piercing gaze. “Sometimes I’m not so sure, but it’s my own fault.”

“Well, I do, and I’m saying it now for good measure. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Yen smiled slightly, just the slightest quirk of her lovely, plump lips. “And you, Geralt?”

Hunching his shoulders, Geralt felt the betraying heat of a blush rising to the surface of his skin. It was almost painful how obvious he was while encased in Jaskier’s body. All the same, he tried to use his words this time. “I… am glad that I protect him. He is soft.”

“Aw, _Geralt_!” Jaskier cooed, throwing his arms around the smaller frame that the Witcher currently inhabited. “That’s so sweet of you! You know, I’ve defended you a few times and I like protecting you too! And this has been such a wild ride, being in your body, and I can say for sure that I absolutely _adore_ your muscles and your eyes and your hair and everything about you, and if I do say so, I feel very sexy right now which therefore means that _you_ are very sexy and I just think you’re…”

“…Beautiful.” The next word shocked them both when it came out of the Bard’s mouth, in Jaskier’s own voice. Geralt had not spoken it.

They looked at each other, then switched to inspecting their hands and patting themselves down. Geralt ran his hands through his hair – _his_ hair – and sighed in relief, while Jaskier squeezed his own upper arm and jutted his lower lip out to pout. “Oh, now I feel _really_ tiny. That wasn’t nearly as fun of a swap.”

The Witcher made eye contact with Yennefer, who smiled kindly amidst her sneaky solution to their problem. His lips pressed in a line, the smallest of grateful smiles in return, and nodded to her. “Thank you, Yen.”

“Now you’ll be back on the road in no time. But if this happens again, I might just make you stay a little longer.” She reached out and placed one hand atop each of theirs. “Don’t forget what you saw within each other, alright? Not many are as blessed with senses even _close_ to that level of intimacy.”

Jaskier dropped his disappointed expression in favour of a brilliant smile, cheerful and feeling at home once again. “It’s a shame we didn’t do anything else, Geralt, I would have loved to take advantage of what that massive-”

“Enough of that, Jaskier, enjoy yourself as you are.” Geralt rolled his eyes fondly. “Because I… you are a very comforting man, when you are not wreaking disaster.”

“I could wreak disaster on your-”

“Stop.”

“-if you wanted me to, I really could, you know I learned this one-”

“I get the hint, Geralt, so I’ll be going.” Yen’s eyes crinkled as she smiled mirthfully, gladdened to see them both at ease. “Be careful, now, and let me know if you need anything. I’ll come by if I feel like it, then.”

Geralt smiled briefly up at her, eternally thankful to have such a strong friend. “Thank you, Yennefer.”

“Don’t bother, you two are too happy for someone like me to ruin it. I’ll see you around, Geralt.”

Jaskier gasped, hand flying over his heart in mock offence as he exaggerated his aghast expression. “What about _me,_ Yen? Why must you be so cruel, like other women of my past?”

“You’ll be with him, it’s a given.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! You made it!!
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment!!! I love to hear what you all have to say, especially because I am still feeling my way around these two idiots. I respond to everything!! But Tender Geralt is 100%
> 
> If you would like to support my Geraskier work, and my writing in general, and/or just see what I'm up to on the daily, please follow my Twitter!! @thirthfloor
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


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